


Sourpatch

by orphan_account



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Anger, BDSM, M/M, NSFW, Oral, Septiplier - Freeform, Septiplier AWAY!, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:59:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9318242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Rudeness will not be tolerated.





	

It's a bad day, and all Mark wants is a goddamn break.

To start, the two separate hour-long playthroughs he'd recorded both got corrupted, erasing effectively half a day's worth of work, including time spent editing. He'd gone to the store at one point but somehow had lost his wallet and keys in the process – thank goodness Tyler always kept spares lying around because otherwise he never would've gotten back in. Now to top it all off, he's having to clean off the brand new shoes he just got two days ago because someone couldn't be bothered to pick up their dog's shit.

Standing at the sink, he's furiously scrubbing the soles of his tennis shoes, clearing the treads of the extra debris he hadn't been able to remove in the grass out front. Grime and dirt and things he doesn't wanna think about fleck out of the grooves and into the sink, swirling down the drain along with the murky water. Unexpectedly, the tap surges for a moment, ejecting water onto the shoe and cascading over his arms and onto the counters, back splash coating his chest.

  
“God _fucking DAMMIT_ ,” he screams, snapping and throwing the shoe forcefully into the sink. He slams his hand down on the faucet handle, turning off the water and nearly breaking the spout.

  
He spins on his heel and storms from the kitchen, ripping his shirt from his body and throwing it onto the bathroom floor as he passes it on his way to his room. Every nerve is on fire and agitation is wearing on him so hard that he didn't notice Seán had come home until he enters the bedroom. He's sitting patiently on the bed, beer in one hand and phone in the other, scrolling casually through some app.

  
“Hey,” he says flatly, not looking up from his phone, “Just got back from the shops, heard you having a tantrum.”

“I was _not_ having a tantrum,” Mark enunciates each word through gritted teeth.

“Sure sounded an awful lot like one,” Seán replies, finally glancing and meeting Mark's surly gaze, “Somebody having a bad day today?”

“Fuck you.”

  
It comes out faster and stronger than Mark means it, but that's not the problem.

  
The problem is the look on Seán's face.

  
It's equal parts heart breaking and terrifying to watch the shift in his expression. Eyebrows tucking together in confusion and concern, melting slowly into a wounded pout, and finally settling into an indignant, piercing stare.

  
“You got a fuckin mouth on ya today, don't you?” Seán's tone is careful and cold while he stares deadpan into Mark's face, eyes unflinching.

“I- shit, I'm sorr-”

“Too fuckin late, boyo,” Seán sneers, and it makes Mark shrink a little, a tiny pit of fear burrowing its way into his stomach.

“I.. come on.. Seán-” Mark pleads, stepping towards him with his palms out, but Seán cuts him off.

“My name,” he says, throwing his phone on the covers and setting his beer aside to push himself off the bed, “is Master.”

  
Mark gulps. He was in for it now.

  
“Yes. Sorry, Master.”

“Assume the position, boy.” Jack's voice is weightier now, huskier, and thick with something Mark hopes isn't rage.

  
He always has a hard time walking afterwards.

  
“Master, if I may,” Mark says, choosing his words strategically while his fingers fidget at the hem of his shorts, “I am unclean, and would like to be more presentable for you. May I shower?”

  
Seán regards him for a moment, staring him up and down in silence as he considers. Mark's skin begins to pucker and tremble, goosebumps spreading wildly over every part of him where Seán's eyes linger. He nibbles anxiously at his lip, knowing full well if he speaks out of turn, he'll receive a worse punishment than whatever he was certain to get for his outburst.

  
“Alright, you can get clean for me,” he finally decides, closing the gap between them to put a hand against Mark's throat, soft but threatening. “Don't get dressed when you're done. You dry off and you come straight in here and,” Seán pulls him close so their lips nearly touch, whispering, “ _assume the position._ ”

  
Shivering with a mix of anxiety and elation, he nods slightly, stuttering out, “Un-understood, Master.”

* * *

Shutting off the faucet, Mark sighs contentedly and steps from the shower, pulling the towel off the rack and patting his body dry. He sweeps the towel over his hair and scrunches quickly, trying to sponge out the dampness without turning it into a giant frizz monster. After sufficiently drying himself, he eyes his reflection, flexing and tensing his muscles a little, making sure he looks as good as he can for Seán.

He glances down to note his only semi-hard dick, angling an eyebrow and making a face – Seán wouldn't be pleased if he wasn't fully erect. He leans back against the wall opposite the mirror and slowly starts to stroke himself. His gaze flits back and forth between looking down at his pumping hand and staring at his reflection, and it takes seemingly no time at all for the swell to become overwhelming.

Breathy and leaking, Mark finally leaves the bathroom, padding down the hallway to meet Seán, ignoring the bizarre sensation of his invigorated erection bouncing with each step. As he approaches the room, he sees Seán sitting in the large armchair in the corner specifically for scenes such as these. With a steady breath and a racing heart, he crosses the threshold and then drops to his knees, his palms flat on the carpet and muscles tensed in anticipation.

  
“Come here,” Seán orders from the arm chair, his shirt discarded and the fly of his black skinny jeans undone. Mark can't see the telltale hint of boxers, and it makes him tingle.

  
He advances one limb at a time, moving slow and sensual, rolling his shoulders and spine and hips as he makes his way closer and closer. He can hear the soft pitching and trembling in Seán's breaths as he closes the gap, and he barely contains a grin when he sees the strain of his bulge against the zipper seam.

Coming to a rest at Seán's feet and still on his knees, Mark straightens his back and spreads his legs apart, resting his butt carefully on his heels and allowing his thickness to brush against the carpet. The sensation of the soft fibers against his swollen head sends sparks through his thighs and stomach. He pulls his arms behind him, crossing them at the wrists and resting them against the curve of his cheeks. Prepared for his master, he sits patiently and waits.

Seán stares at him for a long time, eyeing him up and down while absently palming himself, long enough that Mark's knees begin to ache. He can feel his thighs tense with the effort and protesting his position, demanding that he move – he struggles against the instinct, knowing even the slightest twitch spells punishment.

After what feels like an eternity, Seán beckons him over, snapping his fingers and pointing meaningfully to his lap. Mark uncrosses his arms rests his hands against the opposite arm of the chair, pushing himself off the ground with the balls of his feet and laying himself across Seán's legs. His knees and feet dangle off the side of the chair while his shoulders and arms droop over the arm, his ass pronounced and arched across the width of Seán's thighs.

 

“What are the rules, baby boy?” Seán asks in a lighter tone, his hands lovingly caressing Mark's lower back and teasing a hand between his thighs, making him shudder.

“Hahh.. Count them out, Sir, and confirm my level,” Mark manages to utter, despite the swelling lump in his throat and between his legs.

“Good boy,” Seán breathes huskily, taking a handful of Mark's ass in his palm, gripping it with gusto. “Ready?”

Mark barely finishes his nod before a sharp sting rains down on the generous curve of his ass, followed by the tender kneading of Seán's fingers. Burying his face into his arm, Mark tenses and groans before breathing out, “One. Lime.”

  
Another gentle rub against Mark's other cheek precedes an even harsher slap, enough to jerk his hips forward into Seán's lap and drag his erection across the rough fabric of his jeans. The subtle threads of a whimper slip out of his throat, but the sound filters into a gasp by the time it reaches his lips. The earnest in his voice is not lost, prompting Seán to slide a hand up the curve of Mark's spine and across his scalp, tangling his fingers into the lush of ebony and gripping lightly.

  
“That wasn't a number.”

“Two... Lime,” Mark responds breathily, licking the swell of his lip and blinking a few times.

“Good boy. Now those were for?” Seán's voice is closer, hovering from above Mark's head.

“Backtalk, Sir,” he replies, clearer this time.

“Very good. You are no longer in trouble. Do you want more?”

“Yes, Sir,” he urges, his neglected cock aching against the denim.

“You like it when I spank you, don't you, ya little naughty boy?” Seán's teasing voice is hot against Mark's ear.

“I like the pain, Sir.”

  
Mark's words are rewarded with a hard jerk on his hair and a simultaneous slap to the ass, causing him to arch his back and a trembling moan to escape. He can feel a warmth and thickness building underneath him; he's growing fuzzy and it's hard to tell if it's his own or Seán's.

  
Through a husky sigh, Mark utters, “Mm... Three. Lime.”

  
Subspace pulls hard and fast at Mark, dragging his eyelids to half mast and his thought processes to a sluggish crawl, hazy clouds of pleasure and obedience fogging his mind. His hips shudder and spasm, grinding against the stiffened bulge in Seán's trousers, rutting against him to sate his leaking cock.

Over and over, the weighty sounds of slaps and and groans and lust ring out through the room, penetrated by the occasional chuckle and Mark's faltering count. His hands tense, one gripping the side of the chair, the other pressed to his face as he stifles a cry.

  
“Nuh... nine... Sir...” He manages a loud sigh and tries to push himself upward a little, feeling overwhelmed by the rush of blood to his head. Unsuccessful and flopping uselessly against the arm of the chair, he simply mutters, “Lemon.”

  
A quick wash of warmth settles on Mark's shoulders as slender hands pull him backward, urging him upright and steadying him as he regains his balance. Without saying anything, Seán stands from the chair, taking Mark with him and ushering him to the bed.

He lays down beside Mark, lining his shoulders and back with kisses as he reclines. Glancing over his shoulder at Seán, he feels a swell of affection. He looks beautiful, his green hair sweeping over the coal dark lashes as he focuses lovingly on Mark's tender patches of skin.

  
“Where are you at now, baby?” Seán's voice feels like the breath of summer against his neck, and it makes Mark tremble visibly.

“I'm.. I'm good. Lime,” he breathes eagerly, his breath hitching as Seán's spindly fingers wrap around the curve of his hip, digging steadily into the soft flesh.

“You've been very good for me, taking your punishment so well,” Seán rasps thickly, catching the edge of his ear between his teeth and growling seductively.

  
Mark's putty in his hands, his aching hard-on twitching feverishly with need and drooling pre-cum on the sheets. His body flushes and stings with sensation, wriggling tingles skittering up his body like feathery spiders, making him feel burning hot and freezing cold all at once. Breathing heavy, he doesn't realize he's grinding back against Seán, relishing in the silky roll of the sheets against his slick head, waves of warm honey rolling through his legs.

  
“Roll onto your back, baby,” Seán whispers into Mark's ear sultry and low, lips sweeping across his flesh, setting him ablaze like a dry-brush fire.

  
Mark obliges quickly, his arms folding at the elbows as the backs of his hands rest daintily against the sheets on either side of his head. Seán leans back and looks him over again, his piercing blue eyes scanning every curve and slope with fervor. With a coy smile playing at his lips, he trails the pads of his fingers over Mark's pert nipples, sending his head back into the mattress again and earning another generous throb from his still-oozing rod.

Seán chuckles above him, and then suddenly there are warm and very welcome fingers wrapping around his pulsing shaft. Mark's eyes snap shut, his tongue and teeth trapping his lower lip as a yearning groan rumbles through him.

“Ffffuck, Master, that feels so good,” he mumbles low and throaty, his cheeks and chest suddenly feeling very full and hot. He shudders out a gasp as Seán's fingers tighten around the base of his dick, stroking slow and steady. And then...

  
Then there's an absence of Seán's presence by his side, but the stroking never stops, and Mark can't find it in him to pull his eyes back open. Fuzzy and swimming from overstimulation, everything feels so good, he's struck still and keening.

  
“Look at me baby boy.”

  
Heavy lids slip back to reveal the thrilling sight of Seán perched over Mark's lap, holding his dick aloft and waiting for eye contact before he begins to slide his lips around the head. Shiny and pink, the soft hollow of Seán's mouth swirls and puckers around his thickness, and the sensation sends Mark reeling. His abdomen tenses and his thighs shake, forcing a low moan that pitches into a gasp through his trembling lips.

A chuckle rolls through Seán's throat and reverberates through Mark's swollen member, shaking him to his core. His hips jerk involuntarily and the blunted end of him collides with the spongy tissue of Seán's gag reflex, forcing him off in a fit of coughs – Mark continues to twitch and spasm beneath his grip, attempting to stutter out an apology.

“I-I-I'mmmmmmmm... hahhhn... I'm s-sorry,” he manages to breathe, whining a little as more excitement leaks from his engorged rod, trapped in Seán's palm.

“It- *hack* It's okay, I *cough* I shouldn'ta done that with you all the way in like that,” Seán finishes with a clearing of his throat before wrapping his lips around the steadily darkening girth.

“Fff-f-fuck, Se- mm-Master, m-may I cum?” Mark catches himself mid-breath, his head almost too full of his bliss to keep up the scene.

  
Growling into him, Seán's tongue flares wildly against the thick pulsing vein while he quickens his pace. His head bobs quickly as his hands spider up to Mark's chest, tweaking and pinching his nipples, and it's all over for him from there. The balloon of ecstasy stretching inside him bursts and his orgasm floods his body like a tidal wave, sending his aching cock twitching and spitting into Seán's mouth.

The world could disappear for all Mark cares – time doesn't exist after that orgasm. Barely aware of his own body, he hums to himself as Seán's fingernails drag across his skin and his voice purrs in his ear. Exhaustion drags him under, but before it takes him, he hears the gentle curl of the most perfect laugh, and a promise.

 

“Sleep well baby, it'll be a better day tomorrow.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title's my attempt at being funny, referring to Mark's sour mood as well as his lemon/lime scale.


End file.
